


Needed it Shouted

by kashicanhaz



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Ambassador Katara, And Very Bad at Feelings, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Firelord Zuko, Fluff and Smut, Inspired by Art, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, The No "I Love You" Challenge (Avatar), Vaginal Sex, Zuko and Katara are Very Overworked
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:54:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29319711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kashicanhaz/pseuds/kashicanhaz
Summary: Zuko has been working on a grand gesture to demonstrate his feelings to Katara for months, but when the time finally comes to confess his feelings, the moment doesn't feel right.But maybe he doesn't need a grand gesture.Based on the gorgeous animatic of the same name by Hayley Foster.
Relationships: Katara/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 199
Collections: The No "I Love You" Challenge





	Needed it Shouted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hayfo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayfo/gifts).



> My deepest and most heartfelt thanks to my betas, goldilocks23 for the keen eye and the life-affirming Hype, and DisConsulate for being the voice in my head.
> 
> And thank you to Hayley, for gifting us all with her incredible talents. This animatic brought me to actual tears, and I just had to write about it.

Zuko drums his fingers on the lacquered table, laden with the sundry needs of a proper tea ceremony. The cinderblossom tree overhead is just past its peak bloom, and falling petals blanket the ground in orange and white. He suspects that some have fallen in his hair, but he doubts Katara will judge him for looking a little windblown.

He can barely sit still, buzzing in anticipation of sharing his news with her; at first he had expected to tell her during their biweekly audience overmorrow, but over the course of the morning he’d realized he couldn’t hope to keep it in. He feels buoyant with it, like if something doesn’t lash him down he might float off into the aether.

And besides, their biweekly meeting might not be the most appropriate place to share what he hopes to share after the news. If it feels right. (Agni help him, he hopes it feels right.)

It’s not long before she appears, hurrying out into the garden and picking her way over to him, holding the heavy skirts of her water tribe mantle out of the way of her feet. He catches a flash of her embroidered slippers, which he’d gifted to her at the solstice a few months ago—midnight blue silk, with little wave motifs picked out in silver and gold over the toes. Something inside him crows with delight to see them on her, and the feeling mingles with his general excitement, flaring in his stomach like a poorly-controlled flame.

She collapses to her knees on the cushion laid out for her. “Sorry I’m late,” she huffs, shifting around to get comfortable. “I was in an audience with Ambassador Arnaq—”

“Don’t be,” Zuko reassures her hastily. “It was a last minute invitation. I’m genuinely glad you had time.”

She smiles at this, curling a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and he thinks he sees her cheeks color, but that’s likely just the light filtering through the blossoms and pooling on her skin. 

“It’s my _job_ to have time for you, Zuko.”

He pauses, shutting his mouth against whatever he was about to say with an awkward nod. Something falls a little in his chest, but he sets the feeling aside without examining it. She’ll be glad she came once he gives her the news.

“Yes, well. I thought we could have some tea?”

She surveys the table briefly before raising an eyebrow as she lifts her eyes to his, her interest piqued. “A formal tea ceremony? What’s the occasion?”

He picks up her cup with delicate fingers, folding his sleeve back as the ceremony demands, and the practiced choreography of his movements hides the vibrating excitement in his body.

He shrugs one shoulder, feigning innocence. “Does there _need_ to be an occasion?” 

He feels her watching him as he pitches a ball of flame the size of a moonpeach pit in the bottom of her cup, rolling it around the inside in tight, practiced circles until the cup is cleansed and warmed. She continues to watch, the silence thickening between them, as he repeats the actions on his own. 

“...usually so, I thought,” she says, skepticism ringing in her voice.

He can’t help the little grin that curls on his mouth as he warms the empty teapot before pouring in the water. “Maybe I decided to take your advice for once and give myself a little break.”

He glances up at her and finds a playful smirk waiting for him, arms folded across her chest. “Bullshit.”

He shrugs again, keeping up the innocence routine as best he can. With a snap of his fingers he produces a tongue of flame, stretching it out with his breath until it makes a spinning ring around the bottom of the teapot. Then he splits the ring in five, each band thinner in width than his smallest finger, and makes a show of keeping them distinct.

“...Or maybe _I’m_ forcing _you_ to take a break. Because we all know you’re a paragon of work-life balance, Ambassador Katara.”

She cuts him a sardonic glare.

Slowly the water warms, and when a single curl of white steam rises up from the spout of the pot he pulls the flame, giving the water the requisite stir before adding the tea leaves to brew; when he’s finished, he folds his hands in his lap.

“Seriously, Zuko, there’s no way you’re going to all this trouble for nothing.”

He looks up, eyes catching on hers. “Time spent with you isn’t nothing, Katara.”

This time he’s _sure_ he spots a blush pooling beneath the fine dusting of freckles on her cheekbones, each a souvenir from the equatorial sun. She rolls her eyes dramatically, but the smile that she can’t manage to hide dampens it’s effect. “You know what I mean.”

He lifts the lid on the pot to check the color, and, finding it satisfactory, folds back his sleeve to pour the tea.

“Well, I might have _one_ piece of news worth celebrating.”

She lifts her teacup to her face, nosing at the steam before she takes a sip. “...Yeah?”

His widening grin strains the scar tissue around his left eye. “Yeah.”

“Wait,” she sets her cup down. “You mean we got—”

“Funding? For your groundbreaking international research hospital?” he says, withdrawing the official budget approval memorandum from his sleeve.

Her fingers shake when she takes it from his hand, and Agni strike him down, but the look on her face alone is enough to justify all the extra work he’s done just to let her have this. Because of course, _of course_ her pet project would be something that benefits everyone equally, something that promotes international cooperation by providing a forum for collaboration, something with unending potential to do good, etcetera, etcetera. That’s the kind of person she is, and that’s just one of the many reasons why he…

...feels _the way he feels_ about her.

“...I don’t see it,” she says, brows furrowing as she skims the document.

“See what? What’s missing?”

She looks up, squinting in the sunlight. “Nothing! Nothing’s missing, that’s—I just thought, after my first proposal was rejected, you’d have to make some concessions or something to get this through…”

He bites down on the inside of his lips as she skims the document; he _had_ made concessions, and granted favors, and spent rather more of his “free” time rubbing elbows with the nobility than he would care to admit, all in the name of getting this hospital funded _without_ amendment to her initial proposition. 

He remembers how crushed she had looked when it was first rejected, after a year of feverish work putting it together. 

“Zuko _how_ on _earth_ did you get this passed?!” Her eyes narrow skeptically, lips parted in wonder. “Please don’t tell me this came out of the sanitation bill.”

He shrugs again, a satisfied smirk on his face. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

She smacks him on the arm with the memorandum. “I have a right to know who’s going to be pissed at me for stealing their funding!”

“Hey! Alright! Alright I may have... _relaxed_ my position against nepotism, in a special case or two...”

“Zuko…”

“Just some judicial appointments! Nothing particularly damning.”

“ _Zuko_ …”

“Well, okay, and one consul position in Gaoling, but I figure if the kid ever tried to pull anything, Toph would set him straight.”

“Zuko!”

He snaps up in attention, eyes locking with hers, and the look he finds there puts a lump in his throat. 

“I...don’t think I can tell you how much this means to me,” she says, and there’s a softness in her expression, warm and vulnerable and so full of admiration that he feels it like a blow to the chest. It’s exactly the reaction he’d been hoping for, all these long months scheming to put together this surprise, but seeing it on her now sets a creeping terror upon him. 

Because this is it—the moment where he ought to confess his feelings, turn his efforts into a grand gesture to win her heart, but it strikes him all wrong, now. It’s too important a project to be used for such a selfish reason. It would taint it.

“It’s no problem Katara,” he mutters sheepishly, foolishly. “Don’t mention it.”

Her face falls a little, a tiny crease appearing between her brows, before she sets her jaw and rolls back onto her feet. “I’m coming over to hug you.”

“Oh, that’s not necessary—”

“Would you just shut up and let me thank you properly?!” she huffs, dropping herself onto the grass beside him and casting her arms over his shoulders like a net. He freezes.

They haven’t hugged much since they were children; physical displays of affection are rare in the Fire Nation, and all but unheard of between colleagues. He knows it’s different in the Southern Water Tribe, and so he lets her hold him while he tries to convince himself that this is just a water tribe thank-you, and not the reciprocating embrace he wishes it were.

She gives him a final squeeze, pressing her cheek against his cheek, and he cannot help the tiny fluttering sigh that falls out of him. He can only hope that if she heard it, she’d think it was from the pressure of the squeeze, and not from the way his heart is hammering against his ribs like a caged wild thing.

After they’ve drunk their tea and lingered over goodbyes, he watches the way her hair swings over her back as she hurries off to her next engagement, her silver hair ornaments glinting in the light. He sighs after her, missing her already, and self-reproach settles over him, weighs down his blood and makes his heartbeat slow. 

His cowardice is justified, but it is still cowardice; this had been his best idea, his only idea for how to tell her how he feels, and he’d let the moment slip through his fingers like liquid. He can only hope it isn’t her he feels slipping away. 

***

He drags his feet through the rest of the day, regret sitting heavy in the pit of his stomach. Every time he blinks there’s more work to be done, and so it’s late—much later than he would like—before he withdraws from his office. He slips down the hallways on the balls of his feet, convinced of the absurdity that if he can steal away quietly enough, the headaches of the day might not follow him.

Her office lies off the same hallway as his, and so he passes it by on his way back to his living quarters. The door is ajar and there’s a puddle of candlelight in the hallway, and he pokes his head in to find her hard at work, bent over her desk with her pen scratching wildly.

“Working late, Ambassador?” he says, and she jumps in her chair, hair whipping around as she turns to face him. There’s a smudge of ink on her nose, and it might be the most endearing thing he’s ever seen.

“Spirits, Zuko, don’t sneak up on me like that!”

He chuckles, folding his arms and leaning against the doorway as he nods at the papers on her desk. “Hospital stuff?”

She rolls her eyes. “I wish. But I figured I ought to get some other things out of the way before I switched my focus. Fishing territories, import duties…”

“Sounds riveting.”

She pouts. “Don’t make fun.”

“Well, make sure you get some rest, alright?” he says, shoving off the doorway and stepping backwards into the hall. There’s something in her eyes that he can’t read, that keeps him tethered there for a moment too long. He watches her expression shift, rising and falling like a breath.

“Goodnight, your Majesty,” she says, turning her back and snapping the tether. He almost feels like he’s lost his footing.

“Goodnight, Ambassador.”

***

He doesn’t see her outside of her office the next day, which shouldn’t feel as strange as it does; it’s usual to only see each other in passing, but after his cowardice yesterday afternoon he feels hollow-chested and unsteady on his feet, glancing up at any movement in his periphery in secret hopes that it’s her. 

It’s late again when he leaves his office. The moon high, everyone but the night-birds sound asleep, and again he finds candlelight coming from inside her office, hears the swish of her brush in her ink and the shuffling of papers.

This time, he knocks on the door jamb with a knuckle.

She turns around, and flashes him a tight smile—the sort he’s seen her give the Omashu Ambassador with the foul breath and the wandering eyes—and it twists something in his chest.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“...working late again?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Bunch of stuff came in from Sokka this morning that I should probably take care of before I start doing hospital stuff.” She gestures at the new papers strewn across her desk, leaning her head on her hand. “I really wish he would write more often, instead of dumping all of this on me at once. Because I really ought to have a summary of all this for you for our meeting tomorrow, but I also wanted to have some ideas about first steps with the hospital, and I don’t even _know_ what time it is—”

“Katara, go to bed.”

“But our meeting is—”

“I know what time our meeting is; I have to be there too. Come on. I’ll walk you.”

She frowns, blotting out her brush and standing up from her chair. “I feel like I’m shirking my duties.”

“I thought your first duty was to listen to me,” he smirks, offering her his arm.

“Just because I have to _listen_ doesn’t mean I have to do what you say,” she banters back, slipping her hand around his arm, and really he should have expected her touch to spark like it does, but he doesn’t, and he has to think fast to excuse the shiver that it wracks from him.

“Spirits, Katara, your hands are cold as ice!” he says, laying a warmed palm over her hand on his arm.

“Huh, you think?” she says innocently, mischief glinting in her eyes, before she twists to dip her free hand into his collar, brushing her fingers against his neck. He shivers again, and again, it has nothing to do with the cold.

“Agni, woman!” he yelps, snatching her hand away and wrangling her until he has both of her hands sandwiched between his, and it’s lucky that it’s so late, so that no one is around to judge the familiarity of their touch. “Spirits, you know, sometimes you make it so obvious that you’re a younger sibling…”

But she just giggles in answer, and the sound makes him feel light in the cavity of his chest. He keeps up the pretense of warming her hands as they walk, and she allows him, shuffling close enough that sometimes her hip brushes his thigh. He knows he will think about it afterward, in the private, empty darkness of his chambers, try as he might to keep his thoughts chaste. He is only human, after all.

Too soon they arrive at the door to her chambers, and he reluctantly lets go of her hands; again, she slips them both inside his collar, and even though her fingers are warm now, he still shivers.

“Better?” she asks, her eyebrow raised and her lip curled in a smirk. He swallows, and gently peels her hands away from his neck.

“I think that’s for you to decide.”

And he must be mistaking something for the heat he reads in her gaze, because there is no way she means to look as hungry as she does, pupils blown wide in the silver light of the moon. His throat bobs under her scrutiny, and his pulse slams in his neck; he feels his body temperature creeping upward, such that he worries she can feel it too, radiating off of him in waves.

“Our meeting,” he stammers. “It’s...early.”

She retracts a little, pulling her wrists out of his grip as she blinks at him, and then takes a full step back. “Of course,” she says, dipping into a bow, and he watches her lashes flutter over her cheeks, casting shadows in the moonlight. “Goodnight, Zuko.”

His voice cracks when he answers, “sleep well, Katara.”

***

That night he is too tired to do anything but fall asleep, but in the morning he wakes from dreams of her, restless and aching with want. He only starts to feel shame as he’s panting in the cool down, his release pooling on his navel before he towels himself with reproach. 

He throws himself into his katas, pushing until his muscles strain and the heat of his fire bakes cracks into the earth beneath his feet. All the while he cannot find his center, feeling instead like a lump of clay warbling around the edge of a potter’s wheel, misaligned and unmanageable. Her name rings in his head, keeping him from focusing, and so all his forms are sloppier than usual, his every movement just a touch beyond his total control. It’s infuriating.

Usually he counts himself as a man of action, of courage and conviction, for better or for worse, but she is dear enough to him to inspire caution. He cannot tell if this is a weakness or a strength, but it certainly feels more like a curse than a blessing.

A bath in cool water shocks some of his frustration out of him, but the calm it brings sits more like fatigue; he feels wrung out, exhausted by the consequences of his trepidation. The day’s full schedule lolls before him like a tongue. A tiny headache starts to bloom under the squint of his brow, promising violence. More than anything he wishes he could make more time for her, carve out an hour or two to start in on hospital plans, but his time is limited enough as is.

***

Hers is his second meeting of the day, and she arrives harried, just on time when he knows she would rather be early. His heart lifts when she appears, as though the sun has only now risen as he looks upon her face.

It takes his trained eye to see that she’s rushing, despite her immaculate dress and perfectly-styled hair; there’s the faintest bleariness in her eye, and the skin on her face looks freshly scrubbed. He’s privately fascinated by the duality of her, every inch the diplomat this morning, when the night before she was anything but. He represses a shiver at the memory of her fingers on his neck. The door falls shut behind her, and she bows low in obeisance.

“Beg pardon for my tardiness, your Majesty.”

“You’re not late, Katara.”

The corner of her lip curls in a polite smile, but her eyes aren’t in it. “Thanks, Zuko.”

She gives herself the space of a single breath to settle in her chair before she’s unfolding her notes, walking him through Sokka’s latest correspondence and briefing him on a number of new initiatives she’s hammering out with her counterparts. She’s talking fast enough that she doesn’t notice when a member of his kitchen staff wheels in a small lacquered service cart, piled high with little fruit pastries and a pot of the strong, fermented tea that she favors. She cuts herself off mid-sentence when she catches sight of it, blinking at it as though it might be a mirage.

“Figured you might not have eaten yet,” he says, an unexpected husk in his voice. He clears his throat. “I wasn’t sure which were your favorite, so I had them bring a little of everything.”

Her mouth is pressed in a thin line, twitching like she’s trying not to frown. “That was thoughtful of you.”

“Is something wrong? Would you prefer something else?”

She shakes her head, and he can see her jaw muscles clench. “Spirits, no, these little things are the best. I just…” and she sighs a little, lifting her eyes to his face and softening her expression into a melancholy smile. “I get overwhelmed, sometimes, by the breadth of your kindness.”

He stares back at her, time unspooling as their eyes lock; he can tell that there’s something to read between the lines of what she’s saying, but he can’t quite make it out. The longer the moment stretches, the more foolish he feels, more self conscious and stupid. Even as well as he knows her, there will always be parts of her that remain mysterious to him.

 _Just tell me,_ he wants to beg. _Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it_.

“It’s just breakfast, Katara,” he says instead, offering her a soft little smile of his own.

“You’re right,” she says, dropping her gaze to the red berry tart in her hand so suddenly it stings like a slap. “Of course it is.” 

He watches in silence as she bites into the tart, well convinced that anything he might say would make whatever he’s done worse. By some stroke of luck her gloom seems to lift as she eats, and before long she picks up where she’d left off when the food arrived, gesticulating wildly with her pastries and her teacup. She even treats him to the sunshine of her smile again as their conversation turns back to the hospital, and he breathes a little easier in its warmth. 

“Seriously, Zuko,” she says, pausing at the door during her lingering Water Tribe goodbye, “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for putting this together.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Katara. We’ve got to get it built first.”

She rolls her eyes, amusement curling on her mouth, and grabs his hand to give it a fierce, affectionate squeeze.

“An effort like this deserves more than one thank you, don’t you think?”

He swallows thickly at the brashness of her gesture, overly familiar for the bright daylight of court; from the barest glint of mischief in her eyes, he thinks she might be aware of this and flaunting custom on purpose. The thought makes his pulse race.

His hand tingles as she walks away, and he sends up a silent prayer to all the gods he can think of for guidance, or at least some demystification of this woman who has, against all odds, entirely bewitched him.

***

He retires late for the third night in a row, catching up on all the things he’d been putting off in favor of securing hospital funding. The fatigue is starting to wear on him—he knows he can’t keep this up—but it’s her voice in his head telling him to take care of himself, and every time he hears it he feels a little pang of guilt for favoring her that pushes him to write one more letter, sign one more missive. Hours pass in this fugue of heartsick guilt, until he realizes he hasn’t heard another soul in hours, and a glance outside his window tells him it must be after midnight, from the angle of the moonlight and the stars he can see.

He sighs, tidying his desk cursorily before shuffling out into the hallway, stretching his stiffened back with a yawn. There’s a cramp in the knuckles on his right hand that he’d been ignoring, and he’s in the midst of rubbing a little heat into it when he notices a little sliver of light cutting into the hallway outside her door.

He pauses, listening for the sounds of a body at work, but hears no shuffling of papers or tinking of a brush in an inkwell, just the deep, even draw of her breathing. A peek inside confirms his suspicions as he finds her asleep on her desk, cheek pillowed on a scroll that has rolled over the edge of the table, her ink brush drying in her hand. Fondness wells up in him as he observes her; he considers whether to wake her, and finds that he cannot bear the thought.

He does his best to disentangle her from her work with a delicate hand, but she stirs as he settles her in his arms. He holds his breath, petrified that he has awoken her, but then she curls closer, nuzzling into his neck with a contented hum, and he releases his breath in a shuddering sigh. 

Radiant affection blooms in his chest. He feels he could choke on every heartbeat. It’s like too much rain too fast, against the insatiable drought of his longing; he fears instead of nourishing him, this feeling will disrupt the delicate balance of his composure, and that his affections, like a mudslide, will come tumbling forth, wreaking destruction.

But for right now she is cuddled sweetly in his arms, and he can pretend that this is his.

He takes the long way back to her chambers, through the garden filled with water and moonlight. It feels like some ceremonial rite to carry her, like some sacred pledge of devotion—and maybe it is, that feeling alone enough to make it so. With the light of the moon goddess at his back, he wonders if she knows what this means to him, if that is her favor he feels gently stoking his inner fire, or merely the excitable leap of his own passion. 

He has never stepped foot inside Katara’s chambers at night, and he’d expected that to feel more revelatory than it does, shutting the door softly behind him and tiptoeing to the bed. He bends light into the lamp at her bedside as he lays her gingerly on the coverlet, reluctantly unwinding her arms from his neck, and she whines a little, as though in protest at being separated from him. It takes restraint to keep himself from gathering her back up, from tucking himself beside her and letting her sleep on his chest; he can’t imagine what he could say to explain himself in the morning, though, and that alone holds him back.

He takes a breath to commit this moment to memory, perched on the side of her bed. She looks serene in a way she seldom does when she’s awake, ever occupied by her calling to relieve the burdens of the world. He cannot leave her to sleep still dressed as she is, so he busies himself with relieving her of these smaller burdens, cradling her in his arms to ease the garment off her body, reverently plucking his gifted slippers off her feet. He finds a blanket to tuck over her, and smooths her hair back on her pillow, making sure she is as comfortable as he can appropriately make her.

He’s out of excuses to stay.

When he makes himself stand, he first thinks it is his own reluctance he feels pulling him back towards the bed, but then he hears the blankets shift, and the tug on his sleeve gets more insistent, and he looks over his shoulder with a blush rising in his cheeks, embarrassed to have been caught.

She’s barely awake, pulling him back down to the bed in a way that seems more reflexive than anything. He goes, pinned by her gaze as she blinks herself alert, propping herself up on an elbow.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice is soft, croaky with sleep.

“I found you asleep in your office, and I...um...didn’t want to wake you. So I brought you here.”

“You carried me from my office?”

“Yes.”

She casts her eyes away, the same melancholy shining in them as he’d seen over breakfast that morning. “You didn’t have to.”

He wants to reassure her that it was no trouble, but then he watches her notice her mantle and shoes, neatly situated at her bedside. Her expression starts to shift, and when her eyes return to his, they’re wide and glassy with awe. For once, he doesn’t think he imagines the way she’s leaning in towards him.

“I wanted to,” he shrugs, a shy smile rising on his face. And then, before he can stop himself, he admits, “I want to be the one who takes care of you, Katara.”

There is a split second where he worries he’s overstepped as the shock of his admission registers in her eyes, but then a smile breaks across her face, hopeful and warm and bright. She closes the distance between them, pulling him into her embrace, and the radiance in his chest comes back a thousand fold.

“I want to be the one you take care of,” she whispers, her face tucked against his neck again. “Is that selfish of me?”

“No, I don’t think so,” he answers, shaking his head and nosing his way into her hair. “If anyone’s being selfish, it’s me.”

“How could it be selfish of you, to want to take care of another person?”

His heart hammers in his chest as he answers, “...because taking care of you isn’t all I want.”

She draws back a little, fixing him with her gaze, and it’s the same look she’d worn on her threshold the night before, pupils wide and glittering. Again she slides her fingers along his neck, cradling him, her thumbs feathering along the hinges of his jaw. “That’s not all I want from you either, Zuko.”

She draws him in to her lips then, and this too is not a revelation like he’d thought it would be. Her kiss is reverent, sweet, unhurried. It feels like finding a home he hadn’t known he’d lost, easing a pain he’d grown accustomed to; he tips himself into her, following her down onto the pillows, but it feels more like floating than sinking. 

He cannot say who is responsible for turning the kiss hungry; maybe it had been from the start, hidden in the thrill of their affirmation, but as the disbelief wears off, the heat it leaves behind beats a commanding rhythm in their bodies.

He becomes increasingly focused on chasing the noises she makes, his lips wandering on instinct, learning the curves of her body with curious hands. Gently he tugs aside the collar of her tunic, moving the fabric just enough to run his teeth along the jut of her collarbone before settling his mouth where her neck meets her shoulder. She gasps as he swirls his tongue there, arching her back, and the sound she makes on the exhale blooms in his blood like a high.

“ _You_ ,” she moans, and he cannot tell if it is a prayer or a curse. “I thought you said you’d be selfish.”

He curls a hand under her thigh, fingers bunching in the fabric of her leggings as he hauls her closer. She whimpers again, peeling open his robes to splay her hands across his chest.

“This is me being selfish, Katara...” he pants into her ear, voice broken and low as he catches her earlobe between his teeth. She keens in response, tipping back her head to bare her throat to him again, and the sight of her kiss-bitten skin uncurls a possessive delight in the pit of his stomach. 

And yet he knows this is happening too fast—there is more for them to consider beyond their racing desire, loath as he may be to admit it. His head spins in the rush of her affection, and though he ought to pull himself back, he knows he could only wrench himself away at her command.

So he’s only being half coy when he draws back, cups her cheek and whispers, “...but it’s very late.”

Her eyes go sharp, glinting with challenge. “Oh no you don’t,” she growls, shucking his robes off off his shoulders. “That’s not going to work on me twice.”

Before he knows what’s happened she’s flipped him on his back, pinning his hips in place with her knees, and it startles a laugh out of him. She slinks up his body, pressing him into the bed and nipping hungry kisses into his newly exposed skin, and his hands fly to her, feathering across her waist and threading fingers into her hair. He doesn’t mean to cling to her, but he cannot help it.

“I don’t care if all you do is kiss me breathless,” she whispers, gripping his jaw in her hand to make him look at her. “I’m not letting you out of this bed tonight, so help me La.”

He swallows, nodding. “...okay.” He is suddenly achingly hard.

“Okay?” she says, voice going soft. “Unless, I mean, if you wanted to stop—”

He shakes his head, overeager. “No. Don’t want to.”

A satisfied smirk curls on her lips. “Good,” she purrs, sitting back on her heels and settling herself over his unsubtle arousal. “So why don’t you show me,”—she whips her tunic off over her head and twists one hand behind her back to pluck out the knot from her chest bindings—“how selfish you can really be, Zuko.”

His breath catches in his throat, and heat rushes through his body like he’s burning from the inside out. She’s beautiful—of course she’s beautiful—but to see her now, vivid where his fantasies had been vague and hovering above him with her eyes blown black with desire, he’s transfixed.

He takes a shuddering breath to try to center himself, but he’s still worried he’s caught the sheets on fire when she snatches up one of his wrists, only for her to settle his hand over her bare breast, holding him there and arching into his touch. 

He rolls her nipple between his fingers, shuddering at the sound she makes.

“Show me how you want me, Zuko,” she murmurs, sliding her hands up his torso as she leans down to meet him. “Let go.”

And when she kisses him again, the last threads of his restraint snap; he surges up to meet her, grabbing her ass through her leggings and catching his teeth on her bottom lip.

“Like this?” he growls into her mouth, canting his hips to grind against her, and the way she moans and bows her body in answer makes him bold. He rolls her onto her back, swallowing her gasps as she hits the pillows. Her skin feels like sunlight where it meets his, nourishing and warm.

“Yes, Zuko,” she keens, threading her fingers into his hair and tugging softly at the roots. “Yes, just like that.” 

He breaks away from her mouth to kiss his way down her body, lingering at her breasts as he strips away her leggings. She lifts her hips up off the bed to help him, but when she reaches down to pluck out the knot of her sarashi wraps he swats her hand away.

“Let me.”

“But you’re _teasing_.”

“You’re impatient,” he chides, skimming his fingers over the top of her waistband and watching the goosebumps follow in his wake. “You wanted me selfish, didn’t you?”

Before she can answer, he presses his teeth against the soft skin of her hip, dragging until he catches the edge of her loosened sarashi and gives it a tug. She gasps beneath him as he unwinds her slowly, kissing his way down every newly revealed sliver of skin. By the time he finally strips away the cloth covering her center, he can’t tell which one of them he’s torturing worse.

He lifts one leg over his shoulder, then the other, glancing up at her face as he settles in. She looks wrecked already, eyes hooded and lashes fluttering, her face and chest flushed and dewy with exertion.

She cries out when he finally dips his tongue into her folds, arching off the bed and into his mouth, and satisfaction washes over him, mixing with the thrill of finally knowing her taste. He starts slow, giving her a chance to warm up to his touch, but she’s so responsive that it’s not long before he’s working her over in earnest, hitting a steady rhythm drawing circles over her clit with the tip of his tongue. She babbles praise, clutching at the roots of his hair. He tries to pay attention to what she likes best, but his heart stutters in his chest every time she gasps his name, and so he keeps getting derailed, awestruck by her pleasure.

Her legs start to shake around his ears, and he can feel her body tense, straining towards release; he wants to pick up the pace at her clit, but there’s a dull ache in his jaw, so instead he strokes a finger inside her. When she bucks in answer, shuddering, he adds a second finger and curls.

“ _There!_ ” she groans, and then, “Oh, Zuko, _Zuko…!_ ”

He has to shift forward to follow the way her body pitches with her release, her core fluttering around his fingers as he coaxes her through it. Pride surges through him at the sounds she makes, his name on her every breath, and it re-awakens the arousal he’d been neglecting in favor of hers. Her eyes are waiting for him when he resurfaces, and he holds her gaze as he wipes his chin on his wrist, thrilling at the way it makes her shiver. 

“Get up here,” she commands, breathless, and he’s all too happy to obey. He crawls carefully up her body, trying to keep his weight off her, but once he’s close enough to kiss she pulls him down hungrily, wrapping her legs around his hips to draw him close.

“I knew you’d be good at that,” she whimpers in his ear, arching into his touch as he slides his hands over her breasts. An absurd, prideful grin threatens to break on his face, and so he hides it in the crook of her neck, pressing languid kisses into her skin.

“You’re so beautiful when you come,” he confesses, heart soaring.

She twists in his arms to kiss him fiercely, breaking away to pant, “wanna see me do it again?” 

“ _Fuck_ yes,” he groans, a little embarrassed at how wrecked he sounds, and scrambles to help her strip him of his pants.

“Spirits, Zuko...” she trails off, tracing the full length of him with teasing delicacy, and he has to grit his teeth to keep from whining.

“Fuck, Katara,” he huffs, hanging his head and pressing himself into her hand. “Agni, _fuck_.”

“That’s the idea,” she chuckles, her voice warm and sweet like honey. 

He feels electric, all raw power and crackling need. Even though he’s the firebender, her touch sends skittering sparks over his skin. He uncurls a fist from the sheets to grip her hip, dropping his face into her neck and groaning as she gives him a little squeeze.

“Now who’s teasing?” he husks, and she chuckles again, releasing his cock.

“Fair’s fair,” she says. “It’s my turn to be selfish now.” 

Her eyes sparkle as she strokes her hands over his chest and stomach, up his back and over his arms. He’s aching for her, impossibly hard against the softness of her inner thigh, but he holds himself still above her as she touches him, watching her eyes as she explores his body and thrilling at each appreciative little noise she makes. It’s the sweetest agony he’s ever felt, but it is agony.

“Need you, Katara,” he whispers, nipping under her jaw in a way that makes her arch and gasp. “I need you however you’ll have me.”

“Mm,” she hums, twisting underneath him. “On your back.”

He rolls off her eagerly, and she follows, planting her knees on either side of his hips again. His hands feather up her sides, relishing the freedom to explore her more. He swears as she settles over him, letting his cock dip into the heat of her folds, and she leans up, treating him to the mischief of her grin as he slides along the outside of her.

He whines, arching his back and desperate for friction, but she pushes him back down with her hands on his shoulders, pinning him to the bed and drawing a startled gasp out of him. Her grin is predatory; he’s never been harder in his life.

“This okay?”

“ _Agni_ , yes.”

“Good,” she says, her voice low, and then she’s rocking her hips back, guiding herself onto him. He wants to watch her face as her eyes flutter closed, lips parted and gasping, but he can’t, because if he does this might just be over before it starts, so he screws his eyes shut and focuses on not setting the sheets on fire for the second time tonight.

“Spirits, Zuko,” she whimpers once she’s fully seated on him. “Sorry, give me a second, you’re just—ah!”

His hips twitch involuntarily, driving up into her, and he feels her clench around him in response. He grits his teeth against how good it feels, how much he wants to do it again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says breathily. “It’s not your fault it’s been so long for me.” She shifts around, laughing to herself. “Well. Maybe it is a little bit.”

She doesn’t give him time to process that before she starts to move. His thoughts white out at the way she feels around him, the way she sighs on the downstroke, the way she blushes and bites her lip. He’s caught up in the current of her; she’s a rip-tide whisking him out to sea; he wants to submerge himself in her and never surface again.

“You feel _so good_ ,” she whines. “Zuko, Zuko, _Zuko_.”

He dares a glance up into her eyes. The sight of her untwists something in his chest, and he feels like it’s expanding, like he can breathe deeply for the first time in his life. 

She takes one of his hands and laces their fingers together, and he tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. The look in her eyes says that he’ll never be lonely again, if she has anything to say about it.

“Katara,” he whispers. “Katara, I’m—”

“ _Oh._ ”

The sound comes from deep in her chest, not so much an utterance as a reflex. Her eyes flutter shut. She lets go of his hand to anchor herself on his chest, coming apart in waves. He clings to her, babbling praise and stroking her skin, trying to keep himself together for long enough to make it good.

When she opens her eyes again, locks them on his, he is undone.

***

Afterwards, once she’s cleaned the fluids off their bodies and stripped the bed of the ruined coverlet, she curls against his chest under her silken topsheet. He wraps his arms around her, fascinated by how perfectly she fits, and presses kisses into her hair.

“Katara—”

“ _Please_ don’t say you have to go,” she begs, clutching at his arms. Fondness wells in his heart, and he gives her a little squeeze.

“I’m not sure you could get rid of me if you wanted to.”

“I _don’t_ want to.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Good.”

The lamp at her bedside still flickers, bathing the room in soft, warm light. His eyes grow heavy—it really has been such a long day—but he fights to stay awake a little longer, basking in her affection.

“...so what happens now?”

“Now?” he asks, realizing he’d been drifting. “Well _right_ now, nothing. But in the morning, once my attendants find me, I’ll clear both of our schedules for the day, and we can linger here as long as you like. We can have pastries for breakfast, or whatever else you want. I’ll take you again, if you’ll have me, and afterwards we can talk about what we want from each other, and how we can have it. But now, _right_ now, we should sleep.”

“Mmm,” she hums, nuzzling into his skin. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Is there anything else you want?” he asks, amused by her sleepy voice, and she sighs, squirming closer.

“S’long as I’ve got you, I’m good.”

He bends out the lamp at her bedside, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You’ve got me, Katara,” he whispers, settling into the dark. “You’ve got me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Dis pointed out to me that their exchange about "taking care" of one another in the confession scene reads very similar to a typical Japanese proposal of marriage, and while I did not make it so intentionally, that's not too far off from how I want the scene to read, so I left it as is.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!


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